The Phoenix Revolution
by thir13enth
Summary: To their dismay, the fiery Katniss Rebellion was extinguished under a blanket of Snow. Those left still held the spark, the Districts vowed to rise against-that for the next game, they planned to gain what was lost...
1. they were all counting down

**I've been beta-ing a lot of Hunger Game SYOC and have admittedly submitted a few characters myself, but the thought to write a SYOC never occurred to me until now. Well then, aren't you the lucky ones?**

**EXTRA IMPORTANT: The author is a HUGE fan of plot twists and character development. The author is also UNCENSORED but not to the point of irrationality. Also, the FIRST update will most likely take the longest.**

**In any case, onwards!**

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><p><em>To their dismay, the fiery Katniss Rebellion was extinguished under a blanket of Snow. But the ones left still carried the spark, the Districts secretly vowing to rise against, and when they sent in their tributes the next time, they were prepared to gain what was lost… <em>

**countdown**

It was time.

They were all counting down on their calendars, out of fear, hesitation, anticipation, anxiety, excitement.

Sometimes they needed company from others when they felt as though they were going to break into pieces because of the built up tension and stress in the air that gathered down to the dirt they swept off their floors every day. They would confront each other, eyes distrusting their environments, but keep their promise in mind.

They were planning every day, preparing every minute, waiting every second.

It all came down to the next Game.

It would be then that out of the Mockingjay's ashes would the Phoenix resurrect.

**meanwhileelsewhere**

"These games mark 25 years since the Katniss Rebellion…" remarked man with paper white hair who had thrown his feet onto his desk.

"There haven't been any signs of rebellion since then," said the smaller man at a desk to the side of the former man. "You've been excellent at maintaining proper order, President Snow," he added, still furiously typing away.

"Yes, I have, haven't I?" agreed the president, who was gazing at his golden laced chandelier, reflecting auburn in the light of the setting sun. But a few seconds of looking at the gold reminded him too much of a character that he had known 25 years ago, and his beady flint blue eyes narrowed. "But we have to take care."

"As we always do, President Snow!"

"And this time, make arrangements for Procedure 28."

A few moments of silence.

"B-b-but, President Snow!" spattered the other man.

"What, Sandling," Snow asked, abruptly turning, impatience flaring his eyes.

Sandling stepped back, hugging papers close to his lanky body. "Y-y-you know, I've always thought that one a little bit _too_…oh, how should I say this…harsh?"

"Are you implying that I'm making a bad decision, _Secretary _Sandling?" Snow asked, standing over his subordinate, sharp white teeth flashing.

"N-n-not at all, President, _sir_!"

"As this marks the 100th anniversary of the Hunger Games, the tributes will be getting a surprise present," explained Snow, thick lips stretching into a wicked grin. "That's all."

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><p><strong>Before you guys start cramming information into copypasted text boxes, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be playing with your characters; which means that you give me the information I ask for, and I may make up whatever is not said. That said, if at any point, you do not like how I'm treating your character, feel free to call Character Abuse on me.**

**Aite, I'll shut up.**

**THE BASICS**

Name/Age/Gender:

Ethnicity: [whatever this means to you; I'm not racist]

Appearance: [to save you keystrokes, I'm assuming everyone has a generally fit body; spare the redundancy. Some good things to tell me include hair/eye/skin color, general clothing and hairstyle, and height. Add as many details as you want, even down to the number of freckles on a face or whether or not your character has polydactyly]

Place of Origin: [District Number should be sufficient]

Family History: [I like a little variety, go wild]

One Significant Moment in Life: [this can range from a first kiss to a death in the family]

Personality: [three non-generic words, both "good" and "bad", whatever that means; choose them wisely]

Unique Traits: [two; whether it's a physical scar or the amount of hot dogs your character can eat at once]

**THE GAME** [this is more for fun of matchmaking and drama than for plot lol]

Allies: [yes or no; be careful, this might be your downfall]

Romance: [yes or no; be careful, you might be stuck forever]

Zodiac Animal: [uh…don't ask, just pick one of the 12 Chinese ones]

Pick a number: [ranging from negative infinity to positive infinity]

Life is a box of chocolates, which one do you take? [go to .com/ albums/v320/Vexorg/Sledgehammer /Whitmans%20Sampler/ IMG_ and pick one, there's spaces in the link, if the link doesn't work, you should let me know right away]

Pick a shape. [any, it doesn't even have to have sides]

If your character was a Pokemon, what element would he/she be? [gotta catch 'em all]

One day walking in the woods, you see a peacock. Describe what happens next. [whether it's what you do to it…or what it does to you]

What's a pretty good song? [title and artist please!]

Extra Comments: [Add whatever condiments you want. I love snarky reader comments too.]

**FIN**

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><p><strong>Alright guys now that I know ALL about you, few things to know about me:<strong>

**I love reviews, I'll take PMs (the crafty ones know what that means), and I'm a procrastinator who's always busy. Since you guys are holding me accountable since these are your characters, chances are I'll be more likely to update, but like most presidential candidate speeches, that's not guaranteed. **

**If you want to find more about the author that's going to be tossing your characters around, I highly suggest checking out my profile page or even reading one of the works that I have up.**

**Cool then, catch you guys later. SUBMIT!**

**thir13enth**


	2. the time is ripe for harvest

**Alright guys, I've closed the SYOT, so here comes the first installment. I'm sorry for the long wait, in addition to any future long waits because of my intense procrastination. Anyway, enjoy and please review! **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>"And here commences the 100th Hunger Games!" his booming voice bellowed.<p>

He reached his hand in to draw a paper from an already prepared box.

"And the twist of this year's game," he announced, while reading the paper. His eyes brightened.

"Well," he said, correcting himself. "This year, we'll be in for a surprise."

A smile flashed over his sharp teeth. "And don't the best surprises come in the smallest packages?"

**andbegin**

He was just itching for the Games to start, and fortunately, the Reaping began in consecutive order, so District 2 didn't have long to wait.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, he could barely contain the excitement flourishing in his fast heartbeat, and to prevent his hands from twitching too much, he sunk his fingernails into his pale arms, and tried to suppress the long smirk that grew over his thin lips, thrilled dark brown eyes filled with thrill, and perhaps bloodthirst.

He felt like an immature boy waiting for the sun to rise on Christmas day, every minute an eternity, having already waited a complete 8 hours through the night in anticipation of the presents he was going to receive.

After all, he had been waiting a complete 8 years for this one moment, this one chance in his life.

This one _Game_.

He raised a right hand to slick his straight black hair back out of habit, even though his bangs weren't covering his eyes at the moment. He needed some activity to occupy his time with, so that his heels wouldn't bounce, so that no one saw that he was waiting to bask in the glory of victory after spending his career preparing.

Someone placed their hand on his shoulder.

"Hey man," red-headed male with freckles greeted. "Last year to get involved with all this crap, huh?" He put his right fist out in front of the both of them. "Pound it, Cassus."

Cassus held out a fist, unclenching his hands from his bicep. Their knuckles clicked and their hands returned to themselves.

"Yeah, after this year, we're not going to have to deal with this shit anymore," Cassus agreed, with a promptly created expression.

Technically he wasn't lying, because the Game would be over by next year, regardless of whether he was winning or not.

And regardless, he was going to win anyway.

And he wasn't the only one that was sure of that fact.

"Crossing my fingers here, man," his red-headed friend continued. "Those Games are brutal."

"Hm," Cassus replied, but he didn't believe in superstition, and his eyes were too busy following the finely dressed woman stepping onto the platform, turning toward the microphone, a small slip of paper in her hand.

She did nothing, but the buzz of the gossiping audience fell upon seeing her highly made up face, white powder on high cheeks with a fake blush, and overly scarlet lips that eventually parted to make the announcement that was expected about this time every year.

It was different this year though—because this year, his name was going to be pouring off her voice, and would saturate today's misty air.

Cassus waited through the entire shpeel about the whole one boy and one girl thing, and even went ahead to remind everyone of President Snow's previous speech.

"Do we have any volunteers?" the lady asked, the last syllable being excessively drawn out and raised. Her eyebrow cocked at the audience, waiting—an oblivious search for raised hands.

District 2 always had enough Careers going around for them to fight off who would get the honor of going to the Games, but this year was utter silence, except for the Cassus's assured smile.

Everything was going to play as he had planned it.

And so, with some surprised murmurs from the audience because of the lack of courage in a largely Career-based district, the glass bowl was placed in front of the lady, and her long blood red fingernails hesitated through the slips of paper a bit before the actual flesh of her fingers caught onto a slip of paper.

His heart was bubbling up into his throat, eyes intently focused on the scrolled scrap of paper in the woman's dainty fingers.

Her blue eyes brightened as she announced, "Cassus Kaeser!"

And said man didn't even look back at his red-headed friend, who was suddenly utterly concerned, taking long smooth glides toward the steps of the stage, head down to hide his smile underneath his dark bangs while he recomposed himself for his presentation at the center of the platform, soaking in the remnants of his name echoing in fame, radiating suppressed glee as he faced the TV cameras with an artificial face of fear.

**elsewhere**

Her father was actually there, for the first time in ages.

But then again, he was always there. At least during the Reaping, because he was concerned for his two daughters, she guessed.

Willow held her sister's hand tightly for comfort, and tried to ignore her father's lurking presence.

"We're going to get through this year, too," Dew whispered, bending down to reach Willow's ear. "You and I are going to get through this together. Like we always do." She continued.

It was hard to think optimistically though, when even the hand that Willow was clutching for reassurance was quivering, shaking from the bone, scared. It didn't help that her father was just standing there, off to the side, with a blank face on, just as frightened.

Just as frightened as he had been during the last moments of his wife's life, as her eyes widened in a cry for help, her figure shaded from the sun during the falling tree trunk.

Willow's father, if she could even regard him as a father of sort anymore, only reminded her that either of them could later walk up the stage during Reaping, and as the time to draw grew increasingly closer, Willow began to realize that she didn't want her sister to be taken away, like everyone else was taken away from Willow already. Willow didn't want to lose anymore, and as though simply holding onto her sister's hand would prevent the worst from happening, Willow gripped Dew's wrist tighter.

Her sister didn't mind, using her other hand to run her fingers through Willow's long ponytail, knowing it may as well be the last time she could do so.

"And the time has come for District 7 to pick one boy and one girl…" said the announcer.

Willow was too short to ever see, but the chirpy voice was always the same.

Why was the announcer always so happy that she got to send people off to their deaths?

Willow's sister, Dew, was 18, which meant she had at least six entries in the draw.

But Willow reminded herself: Dew had definitely signed up for more food, she definitely had to have her name on many many more slips than just six.

Willow bit her lip.

Why couldn't they just take her father away? It wasn't fair that because he was old enough, that he could get away with playing in the Games. She didn't care if her father won or lost anyway—she didn't want to see him anymore, not after he—

"Benjamin Hatchet!"

The air was frozen still, and from all the way across the crowd, Willow could hear a mother's desperate cry, a bit of struggle, and one of the Peacekeepers poking around with his weapon at the suddenly emotionally charged family. The rest of the audience members said nothing out of respect and sorrow to the said Benjamin's family, while some tension fell among those who were relieved that their sons weren't taken this time around.

And now for the girls.

Willow gulped, and looked up at her sister, who looked back down at her, breath held. Dew began to play with Willow's ponytail a bit more vigorously.

Dew frowned when she spotted something uneven in Willow's hair.

"What happened, Willow?" Dew asked quickly, as though she was pressed for time.

"Auntie got angry. She said she was getting old, and wanted to make a wig for herself out of my hair," Willow explained. "I got away before she cut any more hair, and told her that her psycho pills would help her grow her hair back, so she stopped."

"They aren't _psycho _pills, Willow," Dew said, like she had corrected Willow the many times before. "That's rude to say."

"Well they _are _pills for curing Auntie's psycho-ness," Willow replied, but her sister wasn't listening, eyes towards the front of the stage.

A climatic moment of tense fear, and a name was called.

"Dew Presine!"

The worst had come.

Dew put her head down and started to make her way toward the stage, letting Willow's hand go.

Willow dug her heels into the ground and grabbed onto her sister with her other free hand, pulling her back. "Don't go!"

Her sister tried to get her hand out of her younger sister's grasp. "I have to go, Willow. I have to—"

"No!" Willow shook her head, her eyes glazing, her life was suddenly about to crash! She wanted to stop all this—she didn't want to lose the only person she had left to hang onto! No, she loved Dew! They couldn't take her away just like that!

"Willow! You're going to get in trouble!" her sister scolded her, but Dew's voice was broken as well, heart about to break because she had to go, for the very last time.

"No, I'm not going to let you!"

"Willow!" her father suddenly stepped in. "Let her go!"

Her father? Her father saying that? Her _father_, out of all people, telling her what to do?

"You're only saying that because you don't care!" Willow shot back.

Speechless, her father swallowed the harsh insult, and attempted to physically pull Willow off her half weeping sister, Willow resisted until she couldn't take it anymore.

"I volunteer!" Willow shouted. "I volunteer to play in the Hunger Games!"

**meanwhile**

"You know, Codine, it's just her first time."

"That doesn't mean that she doesn't have a chance of going."

"You're worrying too much."

"No, I'm being perfectly reasonable."

"Codine…"

"Mom."

"Codine, I'm worried too, but I'm trying not to scare her. If you told her that she was eligible for the Hunger Games, she'd be terrified for life. I don't want her to grow up paranoid about the Games. I want her to live as good as a life as possible."

"It's going to hit her when one of her best friends is called up."

"Oh, Codine, don't talk like that. You're always so harsh."

"Angel's stronger than that. I'm her brother. I know she can handle these realistic facts."

Angel, who was behind the door, gave a little hiccup of hunger. Her stomach wanted some breakfast.

Her brother, with the spectacular hearing that he had, heard her. "Angel?"

She decided that it wasn't worth it to pretend like she wasn't there and came into the room herself. "Good morning, mom, Codine," she greeted, a smile growing over her small pink lips.

The two of them returned her greeting in unison, though her brother gave more of a grunt.

Her mother seemed flushed, making her way out of her brother's room as quickly as possible. "Come, Angel. I'll make you an omelette before we go to the Reaping today."

"I'm going to be in the Reaping now, right?"

Her mother stopped midstep; her brother cocked his head toward her.

"I turned 12 a few months ago, right?"

"…yes, dear," her mother said, softly. "You'll be in the draw this year." And she continued on her way to the kitchen without another word.

Codine turned his body toward his sister, making his way towards her voice while holding out a walking stick to survey the obstructions in front of him.

"Here, let me help you, brother," Angel offered, giving him her hand.

"No, no, I'm fine," he said, letting his hand slip through her small fingers.

She walked with him, slowly toward the kitchen. Looking back up at her brother's blank gaze, Angel asked, "You're coming with me to see the Reaping, right, Codine?"

His chin pointed toward her. "Of course," he said lightly.

"I'm not scared," Angel said, hoping that maybe that would help Codine feel better, since her mother said that he was worried about her.

"That's good, Angel. That's good."

"So don't be scared!" she concluded. "I'm not scared, so you shouldn't be scared either!"

Codine gave out a light laugh. "I won't be scared, don't worry, Angel." And his left hand reached for her head, patting down her blond hair.

Her brother said the same thing as she took his hand to help him weave through the crowd.

"Don't worry, Angel," he said, holding her by the shoulders as the Reaping began.

Her brother said the same thing as she heard her name called, her parents crying behind her brother.

"Don't worry, Angel," he said, devastated and his face down to her face level, eyes frantically searching for her, even though he couldn't see. His lip trembled and his eyebrows knitted patterns on his forehead. His hands were frantically trying to reach her fingers, dropping his walking stick in his frivolous concern.

"I love you, Angel. Don't you ever forget that."

Her brother was strong. It was rare to see him cry.

There was something unsettling about seeing his eyes moisten with her face at the center of his clouded pupils.

Something that made her feel…more than just scared.

Something close to the feeling that she might not ever see her family, friends, or any of District 11 ever again.

And terrified, she made her way up to the stage—all 12 years of the life she accumulated.

**someplaceelse**

"I volunteer!"

Iris wasn't sure if there was more surprise or more awe.

Volunteer? In all of District 5's history, _no _one had volunteered.

Iris looked in and out for the person that the brave voice belonged to. At last, she caught him as he was making his way up to the stage.

Wearing a well-fit shirt and slim pants was some guy with dark brown skin, short black hair swept back. His stoic face had no expression as his dark brown eyes drifted over the whole of the people gathered there.

A Career?

After long moments of utter silence, the announcer continued.

"Well then, Ryan Brooks will be tribute for the 100th Hunger Games! Is there a female tribute that has the courage to step up?"

More silence, but there was some underlying murmuring, some accusations of this Ryan Brooks being a Career, and at that, being one of _those _people. One of _those _people that took the Games as actual entertainment. One of _those _people that didn't have any moral values, and went for the some sick gruesome type of glory and fame. One of _those _people that no one could trust, and went all this time undercover.

Iris overheard an older woman whisper, "He babysat one of my children once!"

And then another replied, "I gave his family my spare loaf of bread!"

"No volunteers?" asked the lady on the stage once more.

Iris clutched her brother's hand tighter. Elias was 12, and he was eligible to go into the Games this year, but fortunately this Ryan character had taken the responsibility.

Surely some people had to be thankful that he put himself out there, for the sake of their sons or brothers.

Iris definitely was.

"And the female tribute for the 100th Hunger Games will be," and the cheerfully sadistic lady drew a slip of paper, unrolling it at an agonizing long pace.

"Iris Kendrick!"

"_Iris?"_

"_Yeah, Elias?"_

_She looked down at her brother, a bite of sandwich left in his hand, sitting on the grass next to her. They had been watching the clouds for quite some time, searching for rabbits or whatever other creatures the two of them fancied._

"_Remember how you told me that Mom and Dad left us?"_

_She bit her lip. It was a little bit more devastating that just 'leaving' per se._

"_Yeah," she replied, regardless._

"_Are you ever going to leave me?"_

_She closed her eyes. "No," she said firmly. "I'm not going to ever leave you."_

But now she wasn't so sure.

**insomeotherplace**

"Kayln, has Kellan had breakfast yet?" Kolton called across the room.

"Yes!" said her childish voice, as she came into the room, pushing Kellan into the room in his wheelchair.

"Cool, alright," Kolton said, yawning, switching on the TV.

Immediately, the screen switched to the Reaping. People could only watch what the government wanted them to see, after all.

Kolton was 16, but he wasn't going to be able to make it to see the Reaping live, so he had to keep up with the Reaping on TV, just in case. But who wanted to watch it live and in person anyway? It was just sickening. Besides, he had his brother and sister to take care of while his mother was constantly out of the house trying to make a living for them.

Their TV was slightly malfunctioning, so it took a while for the audio to turn on. But the three of them saw the lady on stage pick up a slip of paper, and call out a name.

Shit! If his name actually was called and it was discovered that he wasn't actually there at the Reaping, he'd be—

"—Haefer!"

Kolton's eyes widened.

There was only one Haefer family in District 4. And there was only one eligible person in the age range in the Haefer family.

Kolton glanced over at Kayln, and then switched off the TV, hoping Kayln didn't catch the slip.

His brother's eyes caught him in the meantime.

He knew.

"Was that our last name?" Kayln asked suddenly, and the two older brothers broke eye contact.

"Yeah," Kolton said. How to explain in so little time—

"Why did they—"

"I gotta go, Kayln," Kolton said, kneeling down to meet Kayln's eyes.

"Why?"

"The President wants me to do a favor for him," Kolton said. "I'm going to be on a journey for a bit."

Kayln's eyes widened. "Wow! The President wants _our _help? What an honor!"

Kolton looked over at his brother's attempt of a stoic face.

"Yeah," Kolton continued. "I'll be back." He got up, giving his older brother a few silent words.

"Good luck!" Kayln shouted as Kolton quickly made his way toward the door.

Kolton hesitated at the doorknob.

"Take care, alright?"

**hundredyearsof**

"Madame?"

"Yes?"

"The Reapings have started."

"I know."

"Aren't you going to watch?"

"No."

"Don't you have to make sure that everything turns out alright?"

"No. I don't want to watch the Reaping."

"Madame…I know watching the Reaping is painful for you, but you have to make sure that your plans work out from the very begin—"

"I trust them. Each one of them knows what they're doing, and every single one of them knows that they are playing an important role," and the Madame let out a heavy and burdened sigh.

"Besides," she continued. "It's evitable. All tyrants are destined to fall."

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><p><strong>Anyways, readers, thanks for being so patient with my updates! Hopefully, the next ones are going to come out soon, and even though I honestly personally feel like the next installment won't be out in a while, one can still hope right? Sorry in advance again, peeps, my courseload's a bit heavy this time around. I'm kinda notorious for being over-ambitious. You guys should totally feel free to spambother me about updating though.**

**Please review! Let me know how I'm treating your tribute! If your tribute isn't in this chapter, just wait because they'll definitely be in the next chapters. I'm going to be introducing characters as needed in the plot. :D**

**Also, give me a moment, and I'll come up with illustrated version of your characters and post them once the time comes around.**

**See you all around!**

**thir13enth**


	3. march of the black parade

**Once again I'm sorry about the slow updating and this chapter is a bit shorter than the other one, but I actually have a legitimate excuse this time which is posted on my homepage. **

**In any case, here is the next chapterrrrr! And thank you my supporters who have reviewed the previous chapter!**

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><p>"Keep an eye on the screen. Watch for every little detail."<p>

"Yes, sir!"

"I don't want even an _attempt _of a repeat of what happened during the Katniss Rebellion. If I even _suspect _you of any overlooking or any pity, not only will I see you as a bumbling idiot that wastes space in this world, but I will also see you _dead._"

Silence enveloped the air.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

**whateverthecase**

"No," Abby snarled, clutching at her wrist. "This is staying with me."

"It's your token?" asked the skinny blond stylist in front of her. Abby noted the quick twist of her stylist's lips, a clear disapproval.

Her token probably didn't go with the outfit her stylist had in mind.

"What?" Abby demanded. "Does it not look good, is that what it is?"

Her stylist seemed shaken by Abby's blurting. "Oh no no, I just—I mean it's just plainly out there, not something you can take off, so I'll have to incorporate it into the theme that I had in mind—"

"Well I don't think that you need to cover everything up like I _don't _come from the poorest district. You're not going to fool anyone."

"I-I'm just trying to get you some more sponsors," her stylist defended. "If you look better, you're more likely to get money and support during your game."

Abby found nothing to say about this.

"In any case," her stylist continued, looking down, "your outfit is practically done. I'll just have to add some touches on your make up before you're presented on TV." And she walked off quickly, heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

_The stylist probably thinks I'm not too approachable_, Abby thought, bringing her right wrist up to look over the small engraving underneath the metal of the ragged and old bracelet.

Liberty, it read, and it calmed Abby as her eyes glanced briefly over the familiar words, reminding her of her father, who had given it to her.

She was so far away from District 12, not only in distance, but also just the whole grandiosity of this place…made her feel uncomfortable, over-pampered, almost guilty that she was being treated in such a high and respected manner. Almost like she was royalty.

Royal for being a tribute.

_That's the kind of brainwashing they do to you, _Abby thought wistfully with a tang of bitterness. They make you think it's an honor to continue a horrific tradition of slaughtering your own people. They want to make sure everyone knows that the President and his Government has so much money that they can even spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on just dressing up tributes and making them look pretty.

Even if they were going to die just a few days later.

It was like a funeral, a funeral way too elaborate for anyone, even the rich ones in District 1 and 2 to fund. It was like a slap in the face—the entire Games.

"Abileah Freedom!"

Abby's head turned up at the call of her name.

Her stylist came rushing in to fix her eyelashes very quickly.

"It's time to practice your walk," her stylist said, watching Abby prance in the way that they had trained her earlier to.

"Pick your head up! Walk like you _own _the world!"

_And we will, _Abby thought, _soon. _

**ontheotherside**

"Hey, what's your name?"

Inva whipped around, the ponytail of her brown curls flipping in her momentum.

"Inva," she answered, sticking a hand out in politeness to the boy that asked her. He seemed slightly older than she, and he seemed perhaps a bit familiar. She might have seen him around town, walking maybe, his red haired and blue eyed self. Not too many people looking like that nowadays, when everyone's appearance seemed to just be a blend of everything.

"Sorry," her acquaintance apologized, his face turning down. "They called your name during Reaping, but I couldn't recall your name." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm Jones, by the way."

She nodded stiffly. "I know," she said, but it came off stiffer and heavier than she would have liked. She had caught the other tribute's name during the Reaping at District 3.

"Uh," Jones said, unable to figure out what to say. "So, are you liking the costume?"

Inva looked down at the onyx and glimmering outfit, covered in flexible tubes of optical fibers.

"It's a bit stiff," Inva said. "To be honest."

"Supposed to represent a motherboard, I guess," Jones commented, following one of the random dashes of light blue light that passed over one of the optical fibers across his torso. He glanced over at the power symbol button at his right shoulder. "We're supposed to push this button two seconds after the screen hits us. What do you think that's going to do?"

She shrugged. "Something like a flurry of lights probably."

"Hm," Jones considered.

The two of them noticed their stylists beckoning them over to the door.

Making their way over, they heard the loud ominous countdown over the speakers.

"And it's show—"

They heard the rest of that word over the set of megaspeakers that echoed throughout the streets as they stepped into line with the rest of the forming parade.

"And District 3's tributes, Jones Trevis and Inva Terens!"

The two of them exchanged a quick look and then simultaneously pressed the buttom on their right shoulder.

Even the two of them were surprised.

Wings.

Two large wide beautiful and delicate membraneous wings burst out of the slits on their back.

They shimmered with a tint that reminded them of silicon, more optical fibers stretched out on the sturdy wings that pulsed with the same shade of blue lights that ran across their suits.

Inva could feel the uproar of excitement from the audience as her wings picked her up off the ground.

**abitfurtherdown**

Kolton's eyes widened.

There was absolutely no way that their costumes were going to follow that act.

District 3 really put on a show, and Kolton could feel the amazed sighs of the audience in the air.

He looked to his right at the other tribute from District 4.

He still didn't know her name, but it wouldn't be long before their names would be announced, so he didn't think that would be a problem.

He looked down at his bare torso and black fishing shorts. The only other thing he had on was a poncho made of fishing nets.

He had assumed that his stylists had wanted to take advantage of his fitness, as well as the fitness of the other tribute.

She wasn't outright beautiful, but she was majestic and just looked graceful enough to make him take a second look at her.

She had a reddish-caramel tinge to her skin, flecks of gold in her light brown eyes, and her shoulder length black hair, slightly wavy because she had them in tight braids during Reaping, now had feathers extensions incorporated into them. She, however, wore a form-fitting shoulderless dress colored all the hues between aquamarine and sky blue, with a texture of scales that made her resemble a mermaid. A knitted soft green fabric was draped, entwining both her arms, and a necklace of sea shells rested on her collarbones.

"District 4! Kolton Haefer and Shadow Brooks!"

_So that was her name, _Kolton thought, as he took her hand as he was instructed, raising it above their heads.

They walked down the parade, fisherman having caught his most prized possession.

**theantscomemarching2by2, hurrahhurrah**

Clara had always thought the costumes for District 10 were crappy.

They were livestock, and sometimes the only option was to dress up as animals, as immature as that might seem.

Sometimes there were stylists that took on the challenge to make District 10's costumes the best, but there was always a restriction because it always had to go back into some kind of animal theme.

In fact, even now her costume was a tight leotard that was white and covered in black splotches here and there.

Well, if she was going to look like a cow, she had might as well be a cute one, she resolved, putting the headband with two felt ears on top of her red hair.

She made a duck face in the mirror, checking herself out as she slipped into black knee-high boots.

Clara looked over at her tribute companion as she fixed her sleeves.

His name was Sullivan and she thought him rather shy. If not shy, then most certainly intimidated by her.

She didn't blame him though; she was a bit quirky and many people were warded off by her craziness.

Sullivan was dressed as a cowboy, and apparently the lasso was supposed to be placed around her waist, and the two of them were going to walk down the street like that.

How utterly boring and unoriginal.

So when they did greet the crowds, Clara looked up at him, placed a hand on one of his shoulders and flung herself onto him so that he was carrying her bridal style.

Fortunately the older boy was strong enough to hold up her weight, but he was still a bit startled of the sudden change of arrangement that he wasn't rehearsed for, as he continued to step forward with some extra weight in his arms.

Clara draped her arms around his neck and looked as flirtatious as possible.

She looked to see if perhaps Sullivan was playing along with her act, but he wasn't, stoic as ever.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, later blowing the same kiss to the crowds surrounding the street parade. Something interesting had to happen, right? And when she looked back at Sullivan's face, she noted a light blush creeping over his cheeks.

Clara's work was done.

That should put a unique twist to District 10's parade history.

**lateron**

"District 11! Jacob Crestview and Angel Dawn!"

Ryan observed a scrawny looking couple as they passed under the eyes of the TV, both dressed in vines, the girl's hair the color of corn silk. Emotionlessly, he studied their gaits and facial expressions.

Scared and apprehensive. Both of them. The boy was barely 14 and the girl probably just 12.

"District 12! Hatchet Fisch and Abileah Freedom!"

Ryan didn't even catch what they were wearing; all he saw was a subtle hand motion that the girl constantly repeated—a brush of her thumb against the side of her middle finger on the same hand.

There was another one.

He suddenly noticed that his partner tribute—what was her name, Iris?—also had her eyes locked on the TV screen in front of them, and was looking intently.

She caught his stare, and her eyebrows furrowed.

Ryan repeated the same hand motion that he had observed in District 12's female tribute, but kept it discreet, behind his cargo pants that he had on for costume.

Her eyes traveled down to see his right hand and then flickered up in recognition.

Some relief settled in Iris's chest as her heart rate slowed down, and she repeated the same hand motion as well.

**inthend**

"Only five of them, Madame. Out of all 24."

She didn't respond.

"Madame?"

Still nothing.

"The revolution isn't going to happen is it?"

"Of course it is," she finally said.

"It's not going to work out with just five of them."

There was a heartbeat before she answered:

"Anything's possible."

* * *

><p><strong>Review! It's what I write for!<strong>

**thir13enth**


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